


Use Your Words

by Make_It_Worse



Series: Brat Tamer [3]
Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Aftercare, Alternate Universe - College/University, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, BDSM Scene, Bottom Connor, Connor (Detroit: Become Human) Has a Praise Kink, Connor (Detroit: Become Human) Is a Brat, Discipline, Discussing limits, Dom Hank Anderson, Dom/sub, Good BDSM Etiquette, Graduate School, Kink Negotiation, M/M, Mirror Sex, Multiple Orgasms, Orgasm Delay, Praise Kink, Top Hank Anderson, Trust, adjusting limits, scene renegotiation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-31
Updated: 2019-08-31
Packaged: 2020-10-04 02:41:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,063
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20463686
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Make_It_Worse/pseuds/Make_It_Worse
Summary: This is part of a D/s series. Pay attention to the tags.Part 3.





	Use Your Words

Connor can never be sure which he likes better: the times when he's unraveling at the seams beneath his professor's capable hands or the moments immediately after the fact.

He craves Anderson's touch, whether it's the demanding stroke of his hand bringing Connor to the edge or the gentle drag of his fingers across the skin of Connor's back as he comes down from his release. For his part, Anderson appears to enjoy both with equal measure.

"How do you feel?" Anderson purrs as thick fingers press whorls into each of Connor's vertebra. He smiles at the familiar question, pressing his face more firmly into the meat of his professor's chest.

"Wonderful," he mutters in answer as he rubs at his recently freed wrists.

He can feel Anderson's frown before he hears it in his voice, "Let me see."

"They're fine," Connor assures him but lifts his hands into his professor's line of sight regardless. Anderson turns each wrist back and forth before pressing a gentle kiss to the slightly reddened skin.

"Your skin marks so easily," Anderson sighs, a mixture of amusement and irritation. They both went to great lengths not to leave lasting marks. They can't afford the questions that would surely follow. As often as Anderson muttered darkly about avoiding prying eyes, Connor knows his professor made changes as much for their continued privacy as for his comfort.

Silk lined cuffs had replaced traditional leather ones before Connor could even think to complain. Peeking up at his professor a moment later, Connor takes in his unfocused eyes. Although he was usually difficult to read, Anderson was rarely so aloof in the aftermath.

Connor often wonders if Anderson needs his covetous clinging as much as Connor needs to be held. Wriggling to mold his body against his professor's considerable form, he traces nonsense shapes into Anderson's chest, "What're you thinking about?"

His professor lifts his head slightly to arch a questioning eyebrow at him. Feeling like an idiot student asking a ridiculous question, Connor flushes then mumbles, "You're just...really quiet, is all."

"Missing something?" Anderson asks, amusement clear in his tone and Connor's blush consumes his head to the tips of his ears.

In the quiet moments after casually wrecking him, his professor was always easy with compliments, showering Connor with enough praise to wash away any doubts about where he stood in Anderson's eyes.

His professor's relative quiet was a bit unnerving, truth be told, but it's not why he asked, "No—I mean, well, yes. But...," he fades off chewing his lip. Anderson remains silent as Connor tries to gather his addled thoughts.

Sighing, Connor pushes himself up on one arm to look his professor in the face, "You usually talk and now you're not. I just...I wasn't sure if—"

Anderson's large hand reaches up to palm Connor's cheek, "Are you concerned about your performance?"

Connor isn't sure how it's possible for a blush to spread to his shoulders, but he feels heat flare down his neck and toward his chest all the same, "It's not that. You're always thinking about me and how I feel. You usually talk afterward but now you're not. I don't know..."

He breaks off in a huff of frustration before rushing forward, "I can't tell how _you_ feel."

Anderson lets out an "ah" of understanding before pulling Connor back down to rest against his chest, "I'm fine, Connor. More than fine, actually."

Connor's body releases tension he hadn't realized was there. His professor chuckles, resuming his gentle stroking of Connor's spine

"I forget sometimes," his professor murmurs against his temple, the prompt clear in his tone.

Connor takes the bait, as always, "Forget what, sir?" He emphasizes the final word, pressing lewdly into his professor's side.

Anderson snorts at the display, recognizing Connor's rekindling sexual desires.

A large hand pins Connor's hip in place, putting a temporary halt to his gyrations, "I forget that despite your bratty shell, you are quite tender at heart." Connor's lungs seize in his chest at the fond expression on his professor's face.

Swallowing thickly, he repeats his question, "What _were_ you thinking about, sir?"

Anderson smiles at his earnestness, the curve of his lips heavy with sensual promise, "Well, unless you've changed your mind, we aren't finished here."

"Sir?" Connor breathes the question and Anderson responds by dragging Connor's slender fingers to the considerable bulge beneath his loose robes.

"I was thinking about all the possible ways I could take you," Connor groans at his professor's matter of fact tone.

"I considered making you do the work—have you tease yourself open and ride me." Connor exhales a soft sound at the image, simultaneously wishing he hadn't asked and wanting to hear more.

Anderson continues talking, his voice low and gravelly just how Connor likes it, "I'm too selfish for that, though. I want you needy and flustered for my touch, not your own."

He gestures at the floor-length mirror, "Then I thought, aha. I'll have him watch."

Connor hides his face in Anderson's neck in response to this idea and he knows he's sealed his fate.

A wicked smile colors Anderson's words as he asks, "Would you like to see your face, Connor, when I'm taking you apart? Do you want to know how you look when you're gagging for my cock?"

***

Kneeling on all fours, Connor wonders if death by embarrassed arousal is an actual thing. Catching sight of himself in the mirror, face flushed and dick hard, his eyes flicker away. His professor presses two fingers to his cheek, guiding his head back toward the mirror.

"Head down," Anderson issues the gruff order with the application of gentle pressure to Connor's neck and his upper body bends to his professor's desires. Resting his cheek on his arms, he sees Anderson's hand run along his spine before gripping at one pale buttock.

Slick fingers disappear between his cheeks to swirl around his puckered hole. Connor's eyes flutter at the touch and Anderson gives him a Cheshire grin.

"Look at you," he purrs. It's as much affection as it is an order.

Connor's gaze falls on his reflection, a faint pink hue infusing his face. Anderson takes the opportunity to sink two fingers to the hilt, taking care to press firmly against his prostate as he does. Connor bucks, still sensitive and aching for Anderson to touch him.

After round one, Connor knows his professor will be more willing to indulge him.

"Sir," he's panting and looks like a bitch presenting in heat. "Don't t-tease. Please, I need you—"

The request is half-complete when Anderson reaches around to take him in hand, stroking him as he works him open. A ragged moan spills across his lips and his eyes snap to his professor's in the mirror when he hears the man chuckle.

"Such a needy little thing," Anderson croons, "Positively starving for my touch." His grip tightens as he curls the fingers, stretching Connor wide.

Connor jerks at the sensation before thrusting back into it, seeking more, "Already?" His professor asks the amused question.

Connor nods, frantic and needing to be filled. Anderson was the only man capable of stuffing him and fucking him like he wanted. His professor smirks at him as if he can read his mind. A violent flush consumes Connor's face as he watches his professor spread his cheeks wide.

"Hold this for me," Anderson murmurs. Chest heaving, Connor reaches back to do as asked, putting himself on display.

Anderson makes a tsk-ing sound, assessing Connor's readiness. His thumb brushes over Connor's loose hole, sending a tremor through him, "Twitchy today, hmm?"

Lust addled and bashful under his own gaze, Connor hides his face before muttering, "Just fuck me already." The insolent words escape him without thinking.

Both men go rigid at his disrespectful tone. Connor moves first, his neck snapping up to stare at his professor in the mirror. Anderson's expression is terrifyingly blank. Connor's stomach spasms, willing his professor to say _something_.

He remains silent and unmoving. Heart pounding in his chest, Connor licks his lips, "I'm sorry, sir. I didn't—I wasn't! Oh, Jesus. Fuck."

Connor moves to turn his face away again when Anderson's fingers fist into his hair. Employing careful control, Anderson gently brings Connor's head back to face himself in the mirror.

"You astound me with how quickly you forget your lessons," his professor says, deceptively soft.

His fingers flex against Connor's scalp. Although it's not painful, he doesn't slacken his grip either, "Perhaps you need a repeat course on patience?"

"S-sir?" His voice trembles in trepidation and Anderson's harsh facade cracks for a moment.

Releasing Connor's hair, he rubs a firm hand down Connor's back, "Do you need to tap?" The severe lines of his face soften around the question and something eases in Connor's chest.

"No," he says in a whisper, face still down and ass still spread in obedience.

Strong emotion flickers across Anderson's face at Connor's implicit trust, "Are you reaching your limit?"

Wide-eyed, and too pale, his professor makes the call for him, "Come here." Anderson sits back on his heels and Connor scrambles into his arms.

"I can tolerate a lot of things, Connor. Disrespect is not one of them," Connor opens his mouth to interrupt but falls silent at a look from Anderson. "This only works if we communicate. I do my best to read your body language, but I can't read your mind."

Connor appears to mull the words over for a minute, still breathing too hard, "I don't want to disappoint you." The admission is quiet and Anderson's arms tense around him.

"And I don't want to make you do something you're not comfortable doing."

They'd had this talk before, but it was worth repeating, "Don't ever be afraid to tap or ask me to slow down. This isn't the first time you've snapped at me rather than admit you're uncomfortable. We can't keep doing this if I can't trust you to be honest."

Something cold slithers in Connor's stomach at Anderson's words.

"You can trust me." The statement comes out too fast and slightly panicked.

His professor arches a wry eyebrow at him before asking, "Were you uncomfortable before you became intolerably rude just now?"

"Yes," Connor answers without hesitation. "Not with all of it. It was just...it was too..." he waffles, not wanting to offend.

Anderson taps his temple, "Not a mind reader, remember?"

Connor sucks in a breath, "It was too fast. I felt overwhelmed."

His professor gives him a small smile, "Thank you for telling me. Preferably, next time, you can do so before your mouth gets you into trouble."

"Are you mad?" Connor asks quietly, clearly uncertain if he wants to know the answer.

"No," Anderson says mildly. "You were panicked. I'm not going to hold your inexperience against you. Things are going to change, though."

Connor deflates at this and his professor grabs him by the chin, forcing his head into a half-turn "Do you still want me to wreck you, Connor?"

Connor gives his answer faster than blinking, "Yes."

Anderson's smile makes Connor's blood rush, "Then we'll go slow. When I ask you how you're feeling, I want your honest answer. I won't continue until I'm satisfied that you're telling the truth and understand how this works."

Connor's eyebrows knit in confusion and a question is on his tongue when his professor's hand reaches between his legs to stroke him into full hardness. Connor's head flops back against Anderson's shoulder and he groans at the renewed contact.

He feels his professor smile against his ear before he asks, "Tell me, Connor. How are you feeling?"

Testing his theory Connor hesitates before answering. Anderson's pace never changes. Pressing a scratchy kiss to Connor's neck, his professor says gently, "I'm waiting."

True to his word, Anderson keeps Connor pinned and squirming beneath his gentle touch until he answers him.

"You're enjoying this," Connor huffs out, arching his back against his professor's chest.

"Immensely," he agrees with a predatory growl.

His professor was taking him apart with deliberate slowness, refusing to move on until Connor gave him confirmation.

"How about you, Connor? Enjoying yourself?" His languid stroking remains too gentle, driving Connor mad.

"Please, enough. I need you inside me," Connor writhes under his professor's touch and the man chuckles darkly against his ear.

"I am inside you, Connor," which was true enough. It just wasn't what Connor had meant. It had taken ten minutes to convince Anderson he wanted more than gentle fondling, that he had calmed down enough and understood the importance of communicating. Now, pressing down on the two fingers Anderson had buried inside him, Connor wanted more.

Although his professor had already done the prep work, he was taking his time with him. When Connor emits a whimpered distressed sound, Anderson presses a kiss to his temple and murmurs, "Tell me what you need."

Connor groans, having done more talking this night than any other with his professor. He knows it's his own fault. He knows Anderson is treading carefully because he wants to make sure Connor feels safe and comfortable.

He also knows Anderson thrives on working Connor into a frenzied ball of need.

"Please," Connor whispers with closed eyes, "Please, fuck me."

"How would you like me to fuck you, Connor?" Anderson asks while working his fingers in and out in a close facsimile of Connor's request.

"I don't care," Connor nearly wails and Anderson's hand withdraws.

His professor rises, tugging Connor to his feet before pulling him into a hug, "I promise you, Connor, you really do. Tell me." Connor's arms snake around Anderson's broad torso and he buries his face in his neck.

"I like when I can see your face," Connor admits, his lips mouthing the words into his professor's skin.

Anderson's hand threads through his hair, "What else?"

It's easier to say what he wants when he's not looking at the man about to destroy him with his formidable cock. So he tells him in halting words what he prefers, how he likes to be bent in half, legs over shoulders, while Anderson pounds him without mercy.

"Not always like that," he says sheepishly when his professor raises an eyebrow at him. "Sometimes, I want you to be soft."

"But tonight?" Anderson asks, peering down his strong nose, waiting for Connor's consent.

A tremor runs through him, but this time it's not fear. It's aching, feral anticipation. Rocking his erection against his professor's hips, he looks up at him through long lashes, "I want you to be brutal."

"Are you sure?" Anderson asks, his tone simultaneously alluring and deadly serious.

"Yes," Connor breathes his answer, eyes locked on his professor's face.

Evidently satisfied with what he sees, his professor walks him backward to the bed.

"Three things," Anderson says, lifting Connor's chin with commanding fingers. "When I ask you a question, you answer me. I'm not being rhetorical tonight."

He waits for Connor to nod before continuing, "If you need me to slow down, _tell me_."

Anderson looms over him, larger than life, pressing Connor's lithe form into the mattress beneath his significant frame, "Lastly, remember that you can _always_ tap without repercussion. Do you understand?"

Connor meets his professor's gaze, melting at the raw lust, power, and concern emanating from them. He surges up to kiss him, and it's a chaste thing considering what they're about to do.

Arms around his professor's neck, he whispers, "Yes, sir."

Anderson gives him a rapacious smile and shoulders his legs. Connor's breath hitches at the first press of his professor's cock against his hole. The swollen head sinks in with ease followed by the slick girth of Anderson's shaft.

This part, Connor knows, is always slow. His professor makes sure that Connor's truly ready despite the prolonged prep.

With a wicked grin, Anderson withdraws to the tip, "You wanted brutal?" He waits for Connor to remember the rules, poised to pound into him. Connor nods, achingly hard at the thought.

His professor leans forward, pressing his chest into the back of Connor's thighs, forcing his knees back by his head, "Good because I'm going to fuck you in half."

Connor keens at the first slam of his professor's hips, hands scrabbling to grip at Anderson's shoulders. His professor's thrusts are unyielding and demand complete compliance. Connor moves in motion with him, ready and willing to give whatever Anderson asks of him.

"Is this what you wanted, Connor?" He growls above him, blue eyes boring into brown ones. They're almost black from pupils blown wide. Connor wails out a _yes_ and his professor reaches around Connor's leg to work his leaking, straining erection.

Pumping Connor's length in time with his punishing thrusts, Connor babbles a stream of encouragement, "Fuck, yes, don't staah—oh my fuck—Sir, please."

Pushing against Connor's thighs, Anderson leans back to watch himself impale Connor again and again, reveling in Connor's debauched shrieking.

"Is this what you hope for when you act like a brat? For me to discipline you with my cock?" Connor whimpers and nods. Anderson smirks, knowing full well that Connor is a glutton for his unique brand of punishment.

"S-sir," Connor stutters the word, voice wrecked from screaming. "Sir, I'm—I'm going to—I'm—"

"Do you want to come, Connor?" Anderson asks casually as if he's not fucking Connor for all he's worth. It's an effort on his part to appear unaffected, but it's part of what pushes Connor over the edge.

"YES," he sobs in response, quaking from the force of his impending orgasm.

"Can you come for me?" Anderson's close and Connor knows it. He also knows he won't allow it before Connor's own release. With an impassion shriek, Connor comes for the second time that evening. Anderson follows on his heels, hips stuttering as he crushes Connor into the bed.

For a moment, the only sound in the room is heavy breathing until Anderson collects himself enough to pull out and lift himself off Connor.

Embarrassment as his wanton behavior tries to set in immediately, but his professor knows Connor's insecurities. Tugging him to his chest, he whispers adoration into Connor's hair, stroking at his back until the post-coital trembling subsides. Connor curls into his professor's large frame, soaking in his praise.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm on [Twitter](https://twitter.com/WorseMake)


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